fridge door and yanked it open harder than necessary. The need to wrap her mouth around an apple cider bottle was punishing, not only for the alcoholic buzz, but for the ability to hide her aching lips.
Heath came up behind her, his presence a dominant force over her shoulder. He stepped in, his boots brushing her heels, the heat of his chest seeping into her back.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ She grabbed a bottle from the top shelf and swung around, almost falling into the fridge as she tried to place space between them.
‘Just sayin’ hello.’
His arrogant grin undid her, unfurling her restraint, unhinging her desire, sparking to life an attraction that should’ve been dead and buried. She itched to swipe the cockiness from his expression … with her lips.
Raising a brow, she crossed her arms over her chest. ‘Rowan and Connor will kill you if they see you like this.’
‘Really?’ he drawled. He didn’t back off. Didn’t understand how serious she was.
‘Really.’ She cleared her throat, ignoring the hardening of her nipples and the deep throb of arousal in her pussy. There was no way she was succumbing to his charms. No way. Well, physically anyway. Mentally, she was already stripping him of his coal-coloured t-shirt and dark jeans, wrapping that black leather belt around his wrists and bending him to her will.
‘A lot changed in the years after you left. When Dad died, Rowan and Connor took over his role as the steel-fisted protector of my sexuality. There’s still a lot of places ’round here to hide a dismembered body.’ She threw his parting words back in his face with a sugary-sweet smile. ‘No man can touch me.’
‘I’m sorry about your father. He was a great man.’ His features turned gentle, the comfort in those green eyes reaching into places she never wanted him to touch. ‘And I heard all about Rowan and Connor keeping male suitors at bay. I’ve been told there’s been more than a few.’
‘Not too many for them to handle.’ The playfulness left her tone, allowing resentment to slide in. Her brothers had warned away any male in a fifty kilometre radius. Not just verbal threats either. There were black eyes and broken teeth for any man who was caught touching her. God forbid she actually have a relationship. ‘They’re quite proficient in their threatening ways.’
He chuckled, the delicious laugh lines around his eyes deepening, making him all the more impossible to resist.
‘I’m not joking, Heath. You need to back away before they see us like this.’ She pushed at his chest, giving herself room to close the fridge door and slide out of reach.
He straightened his shoulders, squared his jaw. The act seemed like preparation for battle but the only part of her ready for action was her ovaries. ‘I’m home for good, Brooke. I’m not leaving again.’
She let out a barely audible huff. ‘I guess “good” is a relative term.’
His brow furrowed. ‘You really are pissed at me, aren’t you, little one?’
Her nostrils flared. She’d hated the endearment as a child. She hated it even more now. The term was first used by one of the native Australian stockmen who previously worked with her father. Unfortunately, it caught on, with the farmhands and the folks in town too. Even her brothers had tauntingly called her little one if they were trying to rile her. But that had died a slow death years ago. Everyone knew she was no longer a child. Apparently, everyone except Heath.
‘Don’t patronise me. I’m far from the little girl you once knew.’
‘Believe me, I noticed.’ His jaw tightened and his Adam’s apple bobbed with a deep swallow.
Silence grew between them. Heavy. Thick. Yet not cloying enough to disable the traitorous arousal making her body tingle to life. She was hot for him. Scorching.
‘Heath?’ Connor’s shout drifted from outside. ‘Grab us another beer on your way out.’
Heath casually stepped back, resting his arse against the
Heath came up behind her, his presence a dominant force over her shoulder. He stepped in, his boots brushing her heels, the heat of his chest seeping into her back.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ She grabbed a bottle from the top shelf and swung around, almost falling into the fridge as she tried to place space between them.
‘Just sayin’ hello.’
His arrogant grin undid her, unfurling her restraint, unhinging her desire, sparking to life an attraction that should’ve been dead and buried. She itched to swipe the cockiness from his expression … with her lips.
Raising a brow, she crossed her arms over her chest. ‘Rowan and Connor will kill you if they see you like this.’
‘Really?’ he drawled. He didn’t back off. Didn’t understand how serious she was.
‘Really.’ She cleared her throat, ignoring the hardening of her nipples and the deep throb of arousal in her pussy. There was no way she was succumbing to his charms. No way. Well, physically anyway. Mentally, she was already stripping him of his coal-coloured t-shirt and dark jeans, wrapping that black leather belt around his wrists and bending him to her will.
‘A lot changed in the years after you left. When Dad died, Rowan and Connor took over his role as the steel-fisted protector of my sexuality. There’s still a lot of places ’round here to hide a dismembered body.’ She threw his parting words back in his face with a sugary-sweet smile. ‘No man can touch me.’
‘I’m sorry about your father. He was a great man.’ His features turned gentle, the comfort in those green eyes reaching into places she never wanted him to touch. ‘And I heard all about Rowan and Connor keeping male suitors at bay. I’ve been told there’s been more than a few.’
‘Not too many for them to handle.’ The playfulness left her tone, allowing resentment to slide in. Her brothers had warned away any male in a fifty kilometre radius. Not just verbal threats either. There were black eyes and broken teeth for any man who was caught touching her. God forbid she actually have a relationship. ‘They’re quite proficient in their threatening ways.’
He chuckled, the delicious laugh lines around his eyes deepening, making him all the more impossible to resist.
‘I’m not joking, Heath. You need to back away before they see us like this.’ She pushed at his chest, giving herself room to close the fridge door and slide out of reach.
He straightened his shoulders, squared his jaw. The act seemed like preparation for battle but the only part of her ready for action was her ovaries. ‘I’m home for good, Brooke. I’m not leaving again.’
She let out a barely audible huff. ‘I guess “good” is a relative term.’
His brow furrowed. ‘You really are pissed at me, aren’t you, little one?’
Her nostrils flared. She’d hated the endearment as a child. She hated it even more now. The term was first used by one of the native Australian stockmen who previously worked with her father. Unfortunately, it caught on, with the farmhands and the folks in town too. Even her brothers had tauntingly called her little one if they were trying to rile her. But that had died a slow death years ago. Everyone knew she was no longer a child. Apparently, everyone except Heath.
‘Don’t patronise me. I’m far from the little girl you once knew.’
‘Believe me, I noticed.’ His jaw tightened and his Adam’s apple bobbed with a deep swallow.
Silence grew between them. Heavy. Thick. Yet not cloying enough to disable the traitorous arousal making her body tingle to life. She was hot for him. Scorching.
‘Heath?’ Connor’s shout drifted from outside. ‘Grab us another beer on your way out.’
Heath casually stepped back, resting his arse against the
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